A Night To Be Remembered Always
by starcatchersoul890
Summary: A 17-year old prostitute spends a night with a stranger and thinks nothing of it. Then she runs into him at Hogwarts and he just happens to be her teacher...rated PG-13 for events that may happen later on.
1. Summary

Story: A Night To Be Remembered Always

A 17-year old prostitute spends a night with a stranger and thinks nothing of it. Then she runs into him at Hogwarts, and he just happens to be her teacher.

Disclaimer: Just so I don't have to keep typing it out: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does, and unfortunately, I am not J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** I am also writing another story on called Finding Destiny, which I will continue to update as well. I just really liked this story idea. As always, I might encounter writer's block, and may not update for days or weeks at a time, but I will try my best to make my stories as great as possible.

Review!


	2. Prologue

Prologue:

I stood in front of the mirror, meticulously examining my appearance.

The girl looking back at me seemed wiser than I did, and considering it was me, that's saying something. Tall, skinny, with pale white creamy skin and long legs; a few freckles on my shoulders; piercing, mesmerizing, big, almond-shaped gray eyes (framed by thick black lashes) set on a smooth, soft face; small, thick pink lips; complete with small cleavage and a small, button nose.

I nervously smoothed down the very short, black, tight, tube micro-minidress that I had put on and yanked my black garter purse up my thigh. I fingered my long, straight, ending in big curls, thick black hair. Oh, right. My hair shouldn't be black, should it? I thought hard, and after muttering an incantation, my hair changed from black to a shiny chestnut brown.

I'm a metamorphagus, by the way. Except for the hair, which I change all the time to fit whatever mood I'm in, this is my natural appearance. I happen to like my real looks, and, as my mom used to say, it's what's inside that counts.

Smoothing some shiny lip balm on my lips, I slipped into my spiky black stilettos and headed out the door, not really looking forward to what the night held for me, and anticipating it at the same time.

By day, I'm Melody Montmorency (but, please, call me Melly or Mel), a wizarding student who works at the local coffee shop in Diagon Alley. By night, I'm a 17-year old prostitute working the streets of Diagon Alley. Welcome to my life.


	3. Chapter 1

As I sat at the bar, waiting for a customer, I thought back on the past year. My parents had died in a freak accident (which I suspected had been planned by Lord Voldemort, since the other Muggles involved had also, in some way, been connected to the wizarding world), leaving me with the house, their possessions, and all the money, since I was the only child. Newly orphaned, I sold the house, got a small flat, and was able to get a part-time job at the local coffee shop.

But, after a month went by, I could no longer ignore that my pay was barely enough to survive on, and at the rate I was burning through my parents' money, what with all the bills, insurance, and rent, I needed another way of getting money, a lot of it, and quickly.

One late night, I happened to stumble into this bar, and met a young woman dressed sort of trampy. She introduced herself as Matilda Shillings, and also introduced me to the world of prostitution. My age was ignored, as my need for money was great, and that was how I came to be started.

I've had my share of many different kinds of men, ranging from big and abusive and crude, to kind and small. They never knew I was quite a bit young for them, as I've always looked older than I really am. It's not the best life, I'll grant you that, but it's an easy and fast way to live. I was lucky, to get such a fabulous metabolism, and to be a metamorphagus. It's how I attract customers, and only well-paying ones at that.

Still, I do wonder sometimes what would've become of me if I hadn't met Matilda that dark, desperate night. Would I be desolate and out on the streets or middle-class and happy? Really, it was only during the summers that I had to worry about my survival, as I went to school for the entire year, to get my wizarding education. I usually rented out my flat to people during the year. The only difference this year was that I would be at a different school.

The family house had been in Normandy, France for ages. It had deeply saddened me to have to sell it, but I couldn't afford to keep it up, and attend Beauxbatons, also. Beauxbatons was quite expensive; and seeing as how Hogwarts and living in London were much cheaper, as well as my fluency in English; I made the decision to move, saying goodbye to my home, friends, and what little family I have left, for 16 years.

Now I am 17, a year older, and a lifetime more mature. A year ago, in June, I was scarred and lonely. I went to a local wizarding school for Sixth year, just so I could stay at my new home. Then I got my start in the seedy prostitution world. What I saw has changed me greatly. Once a rambunctious, adventurous girl; now I am more cautious, more thoughtful.


	4. Chapter 2

The clinking of glasses and the low, cheery chatter of the customers slowly brought me back in focus. I saw at least two other girls I knew and waved to them. Then I saw the man sitting next to me, nursing a beer, looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulder. He put his head in his hands, and I felt a pang of pity for him.

"Hello, sir," I kindly said. "Would you like some company?"

He glanced up at me and I caught a look at his face. He had fair skin, with practically no wrinkles (like most wizards, so I'm not even sure why I'm surprised). His eyes were a glittering dark brown and framed by black eyelashes and black eyebrows. His nose was a bit large, but it gave his face character instead of looking ugly; with long, shoulder-length black hair. His lips were set in a sneer.

Even with his sad, snarling face, I found myself thinking: _HOTTIE! _

He smirked. "Do I look like I want company? I do not!"

I frowned. "But you look like you could use some. Oh, come on, what would it hurt?"

He shot me a look that I matched, defiantly. "You have no idea. Now, go away and don't bother me. I have no need for some prissy, overpriced prostitute. Shoo!"

I recoiled, shocked and disgusted. "My, my. How the insults fly. Well, for your information, I was not asking you if you wanted company as a prostitute, but as a compassionate person. I see now that it was a waste of my time. Good bye."

I grabbed my jacket, turned on my heels, and stormed out of the pub, fuming all the way. How dare he! He had no right to judge me!

"Excuse me! You! Miss!" I heard the voice calling and growled.

I whirled around to face him and started yelling. "WHAT? What do you want from a prissy, over priced PROSTITUTE like me? I have half a mind to tell you to go screw yourself!"

I glared at him, breathing hard. "WELL? I'm waiting here, if you don't mind!"

He looked at me with something like regret. And disgust. "Well, I just wanted to say I am sorry for calling you a prissy, overpriced prostitute. I was not aware that you actually cared about a stranger in a pub."

I shook my head and started walking. "That doesn't excuse the fact that you judged me without even knowing my intentions."

He matched my pace and replied, "What were your intentions?"

I looked at him. "Well…I…fine! I thought you were a hottie! But I wasn't trying to bag a customer. I just wanted to know what made you look so down."

He chuckled. "Not too many people have called me a hottie in my lifetime. You're a rare, dying breed. By the way, I'm Severus Snape."

I grinned. "Well, that's just too bad. You really are a hottie. I'm Melody Montmorency. But, PLEASE," I said, stressing the please, "call me Mel or Melly. I can't stand Melody."

He looked at me. "Montmorency? So you're French then? Any relation to the Montmorencys of wizarding France?"

I nodded. "My father was one, but my mother was a muggleborn witch."

He smiled gently. A smile so small, I might've missed it, had we not passed under a lightpole at the moment. "Yes, I heard about your parents' deaths. Please accept my apologies."

"Thanks," I said mumbled.

He sighed and looked at me hesitantly. "Now, about that company. You were right. I do need some."

"Oh, so now you come crawling to me," I retorted. "Oh well, it's okay. They always do. I'm just too enticing. Come on, my flat's just up here."


	5. Chapter 3

I flicked on the lights and made my way down the hallway. "Make yourself at home," I called, "I'm just going to change into something more comfortable!"

I heard no reply and shrugged it off. There was something about him that told me he wasn't really the outgoing type. Good, 'cause I really like the quiet ones better.

Rifling through the drawer, searching for a suitable "outfit", I finally pulled out a dark purple satin nightdress. Then, hearing music strain out from the front, I paused. Who was that playing?

I slowly walked out and was shocked to see him dancing along silently with the music, his eyes closed, looking melancholy and distant, as if he was remembering a memory from long ago. An old girlfriend perhaps?

"Hey," I said softly. I hated to disturb him; he looked so peaceful and content. Suddenly feeling naked in my choice of attire, I grabbed my black cardigan from the couch and pulled it on.

His eyes opened and I caught the faintest shadow of a smile. "Hey," he replied softly.

"Whatcha dancing to? It's nice," I remarked, my voice quiet, walking slowly towards him.

He continued dancing, very fluidly, and I recalled a few men who had been right klutzes when I had turned on music and tried to get them to dance. Glad he's not one of them. "It's Frank Sinatra. He's a muggle singer who I just happen to like. And there aren't too many of those," he chuckled softly.

I smiled. "He's pretty good."

He winked and then grabbed me, twirling me around. I blushed and giggled, feeling very much like a lovestruck teenager. He's a bit too charming.

As we danced, I felt the need to be nosy. "So, why were you looking so depressed back at the pub?"

He sighed and looked into my eyes. "Sometimes, life gives you lemons. I'm not quite sure what to do with these lemons."

I gazed back at him perplexedly. "Right…"

He smiled. "Ah, that old coger Albus. A colleague of mine. He's always spouting off some random muggle phrase. Unfortunately, I seem to retain them. Basically, I'm not sure what to make of my life. I've been given all these unfortunate…things," he finished lamely. "I'm not really sure how to describe it. All I know is, instead of having a family or something along those lines, I'm talking – quite frankly too, I might add – to a…stranger that I don't know at all."

I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. "Well," I whispered in his ear, "Do you not want to talk?"

He replied by whispering in my ear, "Let's dance a little while longer. Then we can, er, you know." He looked at me embarrassedly and I smirked.

After a couple more songs, I led him slowly to my bedroom. At the door he stopped me and looked into my eyes with questioning, sadness, and guilt. "How old are you? I don't want to take advantage, you know…"

I pulled him in and said seductively, "Age doesn't matter here. All that matters is having a good time and forgetting your problems. Besides, it's not like we'll ever see each other again."

"True," he replied.


End file.
